Maiden, Mother, Crone
by Robyn the Snowshoe Hare
Summary: When Amy Madison is turned into a rat, her father calls up a family relative who answers to the title 'witch'.
1. Meet The Cast

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
E-mail: snowshoe16@hotmail.com  
Part: 1/7  
Disclaimer: I own Val, Jess, and Connie. Please ask permission before using any of them.  
Author's Note: Set after Gingerbread but before Graduation 1.  
  
Dedication: As always, the Watcher's Council. Also, thanks to everyone who helped me with part 2. Gaius Petronius, Jai, Andra, and MMT.  
  
  
******************************  
The phone rang just as I was balancing on a chair to get a box of popcorn down from the top of my cupboard. Jess once asked me why I keep the popcorn all the way up there, and I answered that it was the only way to keep from snacking on popcorn twice a day. By the time I drag a chair over and start my little trapize game, my mind has usually managed to overcome my stomach. At this explanation, Jess gave me a look that is usually reserved for the very insane, but I take comfort in the fact that when she is thirty-five and her metabolism isn't quite doing its fine old job, she'll understand perfectly. Heck, she'll probably use the popcorn method.  
  
The only problem with the method is that if anything distracts me at that crucial moment, like a phone ringing, for instance, I go down like a crippled duck. Only the duck is more graceful about it.  
  
From my new position on the tiled floor, I dragged myself over to the phone, which continued to ring cheerfully from its hand-painted cradle, which my youngest niece had proudly informed me was a moose. I had to take her word on the subject, because to me it looked like some kind of brown frog with a nose like George Bush. A plumber had once told me with absolute certainty that it was a deformed dog turd on steroids. A once-boyfriend had asked if I had suddenly decided to start collecting garden slugs.  
  
Retrieving the phone, which finally silenced its incessant ringing, I snapped, "What?"  
  
I've never been very good at the phone-hello. Most people answer the phone easily, with a slightly-friendly-slightly-guarded 'hello'. My college roommate used to start ordering a pizza whenever she picked up. My phone answering skills are about as welcoming as a Russian winter.  
  
A vaguely familiar male voice answered, and from the way he completely ignored the rudeness of my greeting, I could tell that this was someone I probably knew well at some point in time.  
  
"Hi, Valeriana? This is Ben Madison. I don't know if you remember me-"  
  
The moment he said his name, the voice immediately clicked with the memory of a tall and cheery blond man who had had the misfortune to fall in love with my cousin. Since he was family, or close to it, I decided to put off telling him not to call me Valeriana for at least five minutes. My mother read far too many romance novels, and always said she wanted to give her children rich, gothic names. What she really gave us was twelve years of schoolyard fights. My brother Reginold had black eyes so often that there isn't a family picture to be found before his junior year of high school that doesn't show him sporting some proud bruise.  
  
"Catherine's husband? Of course I remember you! I was a bridesmaid at your wedding." And what a wedding *that* had been. I've been a bridesmaid a total of five times, and the gowns that Catherine conned six of us into wearing were by far the most horrendous I've ever worn or even heard about. But since the real purpose of the bridesmaids is to look hideous so as to make the bride glow in comparison, they were a hit. "How is everything? How is your daughter?" It was a rote question, but I was really interested. The last time I had seen little Amy was when she was twelve, right after Ben finally threw in the towel after thirteen years. Not that I blamed him. Hell, personally I would've given the man a medal for lasting half that long.  
  
"Actually, that's why I'm calling." Even though I hadn't talked to him in years, even I could tell that Ben was definitely upset. "Amy has disappeared. I've talked to everyone I can think of, but her friends don't know anything and the police are incompetent in this town. They say she must've run away, but there was no money missing and all of her clothes and personal items were untouched."  
  
Ouch, that was rough. Ben was keeping his voice pretty calm, but I had the definite feeling that it wouldn't take too much to send him completely off the rocker.   
  
"Geez, Ben, that's awful. Listen, I know a guy who works as a private investigator-" As I spoke, I started hunting through drawers for Richie's number. I had seen it just the other day when I was looking for my car keys...  
  
"I already hired one," Ben interrupted, "but that's not the reason I called."  
  
I paused in my hunt, and so, of course, I finally managed to pull out Richie's card. I threw it back in the drawer while I tried to think about why Ben would call me. Amy didn't know any of our family very well, so there was very little chance that she would come to any of us.  
  
"Why, then?" I asked.  
  
"Because....I think that Amy was getting into magic."  
  
Aha. Did I mention that I'm a witch? And that it doesn't just run in my family, but practically gallops? I received a fair dose of it, but compared to Catherine I'm in the shallow end of the gene pool. Another reason I had been so interested in Amy was curiosity. Couldn't help but wonder if the Stevens genes were doing their usual bang-up job. Nice to see that they were.  
  
Of course, the downside was that Amy might decide to emulate Mommy Dearest. Catherine had always been talented in the Craft, but a few years after she and Ben were married she started dabbling into some of the darker areas of witchcraft. The last time I'd seen her, she was downright scary. It had worried me to the degree where I had almost mentioned it to the matriarch of our little clan, Nanny Stevens. It never came to that, though, because she disappeared three months later, and no one has seen or heard from her since. I was starting to get a feeling of deja vu.   
  
"Do you think that what happened to Catherine might've happened to Amy?" I have no tact. So sue me.   
  
Ben sounded a little flustered when he answered, but that'll happen when you essentially ask a man if his teenage daughter has become a completely nuts bitch with some pretty scary mojo to back up her delusions. Call it a downside to brutal honesty, which alas I have in spades.  
  
"I never really asked Amy what happened to her mother, but I did know that it was because of some spell. And I suspected that Amy might be getting interested in that....but after what happened to her mother I didn't think she would ever do anything..."  
  
Which proved that for once I should've opened my big mouth for once. After Catherine dissapered, I had considered paying a visit to my little cousin to give her the rundown on the do's and don'ts of witchcraft, but like Ben I assumed that Catherine had served as an excellent visual example. Stupid me. Thinking back to my own teen years, when my own power had begun manifesting itself in small ways, I realized that it would've taken far more self-control to step back than to go forward. But I had been lucky, I had had quite a few female relatives who were witches, and who were more than willing to teach me. Amy, though, would've had to teach herself. Thus the beginning of the problem.  
  
Well, there was certainly time to kick myself in the head and do the self-blame game later. Right now there remained the necessity of taking some action.  
  
"Ben, do you want me to come down and have a look around? I can't promise anything, but I should be able to find out if there was any magic involved." That is, if I could get some of the others from my group to come along. I could probably pick up the particular scent that magic leaves, but I wouldn't be able to pin it down with any particular acuracy if I didn't have other witches with me. I didn't mention that part to Ben, though.  
  
"That would be wonderful." Poor old Ben was practically sobbing with relief. Yeah, he must've been frantic when Amy vanished. "Thank you, Valeriana."  
  
Family ties only go so far. Better nip this one in the bud.   
  
"Please, Ben, my friends call me Val." Who says I can't be subtle? Telling him that my friends call me Val was more tactful than saying that everyone who didn't feel like having a stapler thrown at their head called me Val.   
  
"Thank you, Val." Smart man, he caught on quickly.  
  
"I'll see you in a few days." Now came the fun part of planning this thing. I started rooting around in my purse for my little day calendar. Why is it that I can never find anything in my purse? One would think that considering the small size, it would be easy, but I really think that a black hole is in there somewhere, sucking my stuff down into oblivian. Yeah, probably to the same place where all those socks that I keep losing in the dryer are. Though the wardrobe, take a left at the lampost, straight on past Mr. Tumnis, can't miss it.   
  
I need a vacation. And it looked like I was going to be using my upcoming vacation days from work tracking down a cousin with the help of friends who would also not be thrilled at using their own hard-earned vacation time going on a trip to....  
  
What was this place's name again?  
  
"Listen, Ben, could you give me directions?"   
  
He rattled off a few key suggestions, and then said good-bye.  
  
I thought about who to invite, but finally narrowed the list down to my oldest friend, Connie Rizzo, and also the newest member of the group, Jess St. Ambrose.   
  
They were just going to love me for dragging them down to some sleepy little town called Sunnydale to chase after shadows. Guilt is a beautiful thing, though. Because I was guilty about not warning Amy about potencial dangers, or even just phoning her for a quick chat, I was willing to piss two of buddies off and burn half of our paid vacation days.  
  
And to top it all off, I had to go to the dentist in a few hours. Beautiful. Just beautiful.  
  
Screw my diet. I got out the popcorn.  



	2. Hit The Road, Jess

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
E-mail: snowshoe16@hotmail.com  
Part: 2/7  
Disclaimer: See prologue.  
  
**************************************  
Connie and Jess were almost impossible to convince, but for far different reasons. Connie was worried about leaving her son Jeffrey in the hands of her husband's care, and Jess just didn't feel up to being stuck in a car with the two of us for a four hour drive to a town that she had never heard of. But I finally convinced them, and we were off like a herd of turtles.  
  
I really hate going on trips with Connie lately. We've been friends for almost ten years, and we used to travel all the time, but once she got married and had a baby things really changed. No matter how much fun she's having, in the back of her mind she always has to wonder if Andy was remembering bedtimes, if that flu virus was coming around, or about the hundreds of minor crisis that tend to crop up with kids. Also, I had lost my best partner for forays into singles bars.   
  
Connie was already packed when I got there, but we were delayed almost half an hour while she double and triple checked to make sure that she had posted emergency numbers in strategic areas, which to me looked like pretty much any flat surface. It's amazing how many post-it notes you can waste when you really put your mind to it. I mean, if anything horrible happened to Jeffy, wouldn't Andy have the common sense to dial 911 without needing to check the number on the list? The man didn't get a medical degree without showing at least some intelligence. But it's not a good idea to try and reason with a fretful mother, as I've found that it only seems to make them more jumpy. Between us, Andy and I finally managed to coax her into the car.  
  
It took even longer to get out of Jess' driveway, but that was mostly because it took us almost an hour to figure out how to fit all of her stuff into my tiny little Neon. Jess takes packing much more seriously than I do. I can live out of a duffel bag for a week without any problems, and Connie can do the same with only the addition of a small backpack, but Jess regards such 'rough' living as barbaric. Apparently looking less-than-coifed for a week is just one step away from eating with our hands and swearing off toilet paper.  
  
My car is the car of a single person. Tiny, functional, and with Dunkin Donuts coffee cups everywhere. Clearly, though, my car was not the preferred vehicle for an extended car trip with friends. Well, actually Connie seemed pretty happy with the arrangement, but Jess wasn't as thrilled. She complained for an hour straight about having to sit next to the spell components. I've met witches with compunctions about certain ingredients before, but Jess has a true loathing for anything smelly or froggy. Personally I think that if she feels that way she should find another source of interest, since there really isn't anything in the Craft that isn't either smelly or froggy. Most are both. Call it an occupational hazard.   
  
So I personally blame Jess' constant kvetching for the speeding. I mean, if she had been a nice and amicable backseat witch, why would I have been in a real hurry to get the drive over with? Just my luck that a cop pulled us over.   
  
Once we saw the tell-tale flashing lights, I pulled over to the breakdown lane. We sat for five minutes waiting for the idiot to get out of his car and come over. In the backseat, Jess was snoozing contentedly. Connie had also gotten sick of the complaining, and so at the last pit-stop she had just 'accidentally' mixed up and bought a non-caffeinated coffee for Jess. Barely twenty minutes later, our little java-queen was out like a lightbulb.  
  
The moment the patrolman climbed out of his little chariot, I knew we were in trouble. The ratty little man was so tense that I wondered how he didn't pull any muscles just walking the ten feet to the car, and to add to that he had glasses like Coke-bottles, was in the process of losing his hair, and was short. Women's intuition, divine knowledge, or just plain common sense, I knew that this was his first day out alone. Too add to this, my bet was that our ratty friend had self-esteem issues. As it turned out, I was right on both counts.  
  
Things started going downhill immediately when he ordered me out of the car. I cooperated, but quickly balked when he ordered me to place my hands on the roof of my car so that he could frisk me.  
  
I've never been accused of having my mouth firmly attached to my brain, and I proved it when I blurted out, "Sorry, I usually don't do that before the man at least buys me dinner."  
  
Ratty's face turned such a disturbing shade of red that at first I was worried that he was having a seizure. No such luck, though. The little tyrant was offended, and ordered all of us out of the car while he checked our baggage for drugs.  
  
I honestly don't know where he got the idea that we had drugs. From his position, he could only see me, and I really don't think that middle-class, middle-age, medium-all-around women wearing old sneakers, blue-jeans smeared with paint the same color as my living room, and a GAP white tee-shirt that belonged to an ex-boyfriend once (it was a birthday gift from me, and when he broke up with me I reclaimed it) are quite at the top of whatever list the authorities circulate of people that are likely to be hiding narcotics.  
  
Connie managed to rouse Jess, and the two of them extricated themselves from my beloved Neon. I'm pretty sure that it was just his hurt pride that convinced Lt. Ratty to continue with his plan of searching the car. Connie is a tiny person who can be identified at a hundred yards as a mommy. She just has that certain mommying air around her that attracts lost children like a magnet. The saddest thing about that is she had that air even before she married Andy and had her son. At the wilder singles bars we would go to, the leches spent more time crying on her shoulder than hitting on her. It was truly pathetic, but luckily she's a people person who actually likes that kind of thing. She was dressed the same as I was, only with the exception that she was wearing her Harvard sweatshirt.  
  
And once he got a good look at Jess, I'm still amazed his hurt pride didn't falter. Jess could give a second-grade teacher lessons in propriety. Even when we were going to spend the entire day in a car, she was wearing a knee-length skirt with a matching jacket over her blouse. She also has an icy glare that would've made my own second-grade teacher (a particularly intimidating nun who terrified eight-year-olds for almost thirty years before the archbishop finally ordered her to stop teaching) envious.  
  
But our brave Ratty persevered, and it is just another indication for me that The Powers That Be have twisted sense of humor when the first jar he looked into happened to be the one with the rat eyes.   
  
With a very shrill shriek, he dropped the jar, spilling rat eyes everywhere, and jumped back at least five feet. If he is the sort of cadet that the Sunnydale PD reutinely accepts, than I have no doubt that they couldn't locate Amy. In the meantime, explaining to the car cleaners how rat eyes got all over my backseat should be just joyous.  
  
Even that tiny Nero's pride might've backed down if Connie and I had been able to stop laughing quickly. But as it was, we had to hold each other up. I can blame it on the stress factor of looking for my cousin's daughter. I wonder what her excuse was.  
  
But the clincher was when Jess asked him, in a very biting tone of voice, "Are you trying to compensate for something with that nightstick there?" making certain that there was no doubt in his mind just what area she considered him lacking in.  
  
Jess, like Connie, is a people person, but she has a bit of a malicious streak. She likes to stir the pot and see what happens, likes to find out what people's buttons are, and then push them all at the same time. Well, she found this guy's big red button on the first try. Nearly shaking with rage, the man arrested all three of us.  
  
I guess some people need more stress management. Ratty's blood-pressure levels must be just this side of frightening.  
  
Whoever maintains the cells in the police department really needs to find a new job calling. Because whoever it was, they must've left some religious fanatic with a knife at one point, because every square inch of that cell had tiny crosses carved into it.  
  
Ben seemed to really take it in stride that he was going to have to bail all three of us out of the Sunnydale jail. As I said before, he's a smart man who knows when not to argue.  
  



	3. Scarier Than DiCaprio

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
Part: 3/7  
Note: I had a long talk with a wiccan friend of mine over e-mail a few months ago, and the second half of this part is in direct result of that. However, I cannot vouch that I remember *anything* with complete accuracy. Please don't be offended, or worse, decide to switch religions due to what I have written.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It took almost three hours to get our entire motley crew back to Ben's house. The police insisted on doing a complete inventory on everything we had either in the car or on our person, and told me that if I didn't cooperate they would impound my car and press charges.  
  
At this point I was beginning to wish that I had left Jess behind and had taken Mike with us instead. Another witch in our circle, Mike is an easy guy to get along with, and did I mention that he's a criminal attorney? Mike can be useful to have around, but he's like my TV Guide. Whenever I need him, he's nowhere to be found.  
  
My poor little Neon reeked of the embalming fluid that the rat eyes had been floating in, so Connie and I had to roll the windows completely down and open the sunroof. It made me glad that Jess was riding in Ben's car, because there is only so much complaining I can take before I start getting violent.  
  
Ben's house was a comfortable three-bedroom affair, clean and nicely decorated, but with just enough battered pieces of furniture to make it feel lived in. I've never liked houses that look as though a camera crew is going to be dropping by at any moment. Connie's house looked like a shrine to Martha Stewart for three years, but fortunately the arrival of her son put an end to that. Once children enter the scene, you can kiss your stainless couch goodbye.  
  
Ben - in a stunning display of chivalry - had apparently been planning on sleeping on the fold-out couch during our stay, but I quickly nixed that idea. It was a sweet gesture, but I didn't want to put the man out of his room. It was quickly decided that Connie and I would sleep in the guestroom while Jess braved the couch.  
  
After dinner, the three of us trooped upstairs to the one room that all of us had been avoiding. For a long moment, we stood in the hallway outside of my cousin's room, none of us quite willing to open the door. It wasn't just nerves, either. Without even going in, I knew that some pretty powerful magics had been conjured in there. It was making the back of my neck prickle, and I wasn't even all that sensitive.   
  
Finally opening the door, I walked into the room, with both Jess and Connie close on my heels. Once inside, I nearly fell over.  
  
It certainly wasn't the decor. At a quick glance, my cousin seemed to be almost a stereotypical 18-year-old girl. Her fondness for the Backstreet Boys found an outlet in the multiple posters on her walls, along with many other posters of handsome movie stars. Her desk was littered equally with make-up and school books. Clothing was carelessly strewn over almost every surface, and several ragged dolls found perches on top of piles of college brochures.  
  
It was a closer glance, though, that revealed things even more frightening than her autographed picture of Leonardo DeCaprio. Nestled between garish concert posters were charts of constellations and the local plantlife, with handwritten notes on the margins of various applications to wicca. Many of the books scattered around were on the subject of the Craft, and even though candles were very popular to have, it was obvious that she was using hers a great deal. Many ceremonies call for candles, and a lot of witches even use them as a focusing for basic exercises or just relaxation. A box half-shoved under her bed revealed her personal arsenal of supplies - chalk, feathers, herbs, and the like - and the air seemed to tremble with magic.  
  
After about half an hour, Connie spoke up. "Val," she said, her brown eyes worried, "she shouldn't have this much power. A lot of the spells that she was casting are beyond witches who have been practicing the Craft for more years than she's been alive. Even if she started right after the last time you saw her, she *still* wouldn't be able to work half of these."  
  
"If she had a coven," Jess tossed in, "they might've been able to contribute enough raw power to pull off a few of them." Jess was practically scowling. A graduate student with a flair for conundrums, she just couldn't figure this one out. We all knew that the coven was a pretty unlikely possibility.  
  
"To get that much power she'd have to be working with at least 10 members, all of pretty high natural ability." I said, "This is a small town, and from the looks of it, pretty white-bread. I really don't think that there would be so many serious practitioners. Especially ones who would be willing to expend so much power on spells like these."  
  
Amy had been kind enough to mark the spells that she had been able to pull off. Petty spells, mostly, but requiring either extreme power or finesse. Manipulation of other people, manipulation of basic elements, a few love spells, and animal transformation.   
  
When most people think of magic, they think of 'The Craft' crossed with the Wicked Witch of the West. Neither is a good representation. The former is a silly movie, and the latter is a woman in dire need of a makeover. Even a quick glance at some Wiccan literature will quickly inform someone just how wrong either of those notions are.   
  
I'm not the Wicked Witch, nor do I use love spells to lure men into my bed (personally I've found liquor to be far more useful in that area). I don't go around casting random spells to make my boss' pants fall down during his big meetings, and I don't prance around in flowing dresses and embrace trees. I usually wear jeans, and there aren't many trees to embrace in the trauma ward of a hospital.  
  
It's tempting, of course, to cast small spells on people who annoy me, or on guys who I would love to go out with. But a good deterrent is the Threefold Law. Everything you do shall be visited upon you times three.   
  
Which is why Amy's choice of spells was so troubling. Manipulation of people is a very gray area, and one many of us try to avoid. The spells of elemental manipulation that Amy was choosing were ones that were relatively simple, but required an enormous amount of power. Elemental manipulation is better approached with a softer touch, because basically the God and Goddess don't really appreciate powers being thrown around haphazardly. Pissing those two off was not a very good idea. Love spells were just a bad idea to start out with. I had never yet seen one that turned out well, even when cast by very experienced witches.   
  
What I had seen had raised a lot of new questions, but it had also answered a few of my old ones. For one thing, I knew without a doubt that Amy had not left by her own choice. Some of the items left behind were imperative to use in a wiccan ceremony, tied very personally to the caster. They could be remade, but only after a great deal of time and energy. Too much trouble when the objects were readily available. Also, Amy's day calendar showed quite a few plans for the days after her disappearance. If she had been planning to leave, she wouldn't have bothered to write down the reminders.  
  
While Connie and I trudged off to bed, Jess decided to stay up a while longer to look through Amy's books. My little cousin had been fond of jotting notes down in the margins, and Jess planned to find out as much as she could about just what Amy had been meddling with.  
  
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. I would've put it off just as stress, but both Connie and I woke up several times from dreams that we couldn't remember.   
  
As a result of my restless night, I was in a gloriously cranky mood the next morning. Jess and Connie were no better, and I couldn't really blame Ben when he made a quick retreat to work, leaving me a spare housekey.   
  
The moment he was out the door, all of us had one of those moments of silent understanding and everyone went back to bed. Two hours later, we were far more prepared to face the day.   
  
While stirring her coffee, Jess filled us in on what she had learned from Amy's books.   
  
"From what I can gather, Amy worships Hecate. She is a member of a coven of three, with another girl and a guy named Michael. They're using mostly Hermeticism ceremonies, but I still can't figure out where they're getting the power, since from what she is saying none of them have been practicing for more than a year. And one more really freaky thing is that she actually sites a few instances where she called on the Goddess directly for power, and got it."   
  
Jess managed to time all of that for moments that either Connie or I were trying to swallow. I nearly choked on my muffin and Connie completely spit out her coffee twice. Denmark was getting smellier and smellier.   
  
Amy's choice of Hecate as a Goddess figure was a disturbing one. Wiccans who worship a god or goddess by a particular name are not necessarily worshipping the same person that you might have read about when going to school. They worship an embodiment of the major aspects of that god or goddess, and label it with a name to make things easier. Saying that I follow 'Diana' is easier than saying 'the chick who is the moon and is the wind in the trees and is the howl of the hunting wolves ect ect'. Hecate, though, is the Witch Queen. Magic from her is quicker, easier, and also a bit darker. Hecate isn't as concerned about how magic is applied. The Threefold Law still applies, though, which can be a definite problem when the time comes to pay for your actions.   
  
The number of people in Amy's coven was also interesting. Three, seven, and nine are powerful numbers. For some older magics, coincidentally enough mostly under Hecate, three was the preferred number. For most other covens, though, four and more people were prefered. My own coven consisted of eleven of us, six women and five men.   
  
Hermeticism gave me a good idea of the kind of ceremonies that Amy and her friends were holding. The main focus of it was using seals and runes and objects used as symbols of power. All in all, Amy was using the quickest routes to powerful magics. Still, not even this could account for actually being able to call directly on her Goddess, something which absolutely boggled the mind. Something was very, very wrong.   
  
After breakfast was over, we once again marched up to Amy's room, where we began putting together a location spell. The uncomfortable feeling from last night was back, though, and I insisted that we take careful precautions. We used the supplies that we had brought in with us, leaving Amy's untouched. If we hadn't had to be in an area tinged with Amy's own psychic scent, I would've held it as far from her room as possible. Preferably in the next state.   
  
I was paranoid, and I knew it. Connie and I made a protective circle around the area we would be working in, lighting candles and asking for guardians to attend every point. I know that I surprised the others when I pulled my bronze pentacle out. Usually I keep it hidden under my shirt on a long chain. A pentacle is usually a flat piece of metal inscribed with the pentagram. Its an instrument of protection, or a tool used to evoke spirits. This particular pentacle was one that I had had since my teens, and one that I placed particular faith in. It's usually a bad sign when I pull it out.   
  
Jess was going to be the focus, so Connie and I concentrated on giving her our power, while she focused on a candleflame. Jess is an Enocian, meaning that she calls upon supernatural creatures - usually demons or angels - to do things. Despite what it sounds like, it is a pretty common practice, and a very safe one, too, as long as you know your limits. The most reaction I've ever felt during an Enocian ceremony was the occasional gust of wind.   
  
Jess was silent for about ten minutes, her forehead slightly creased in concentration. Then, her body relaxed as she lifted her blue-eyed gaze from the flame to a point about five inches to the left of my shoulder.   
  
"I want you to find Amy Madison. When you have done so, return and tell me where she is. Now go." Jess gives great orders. I honestly think that in a past life she was some fascist dictator. I understand that she needs to be firm with whatever creature shows up, but it's not very impressive compared to how she treats the waiters at restaurants. After all, the supernatural beings are just doing her bidding. The waiters are actually serving her food.   
  
A small breeze started to pick up, and the candles began to flicker unsteadily. Usually that's nothing more than a minor surprise, but today it seemed somehow....sinister.   
  
I was just reminding myself that I was probably just going senile when the growling started. It was a low, gravely sound that seemed to echo right into my bones. Jess' hands were starting to tremble, and Connie was so shocked that she very nearly fell out of the circle. Luckily, I caught her in time. It didn't take a college diploma to realize that leaving the circle at this point would be a very bad idea.   
  
The air just outside the circle seemed to distort, kinda like something in Star Trek when they're seeing some kind of time/space anomaly. Only what stepped through this distortion wasn't Patrick Stewart (to my everlasting regret) but a demon.   
  
The eyes were red, without pupils. It moved on four legs like some kind of dog, and it even had a stubby little tail. Greyish-brownish skin that looked cracked and rough covered it, and the wrinkled face sported a mouth with enough teeth to put saber-toothed cats to shame. There were three huge claws on each foot, and a stubby row of spines up its back seemed to twist up into two horns right above the eyes.   
  
All in all, it looked like one of those Gozar-dogs from the first Ghostbusters movie, and I wonder whether Twentieth Century Fox had more connections to Hell than even I had thought.  
  
All of this ran through my mind in a matter of seconds, while the thing nudged at the barrier of the circle a few times. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I realized that it was testing it. Closing my hand around my pentacle, I whispered a soft prayer to my Goddess.  
  
She must've heard me, because suddenly the demon-dog turned and jumped out the window. No, let me rephrase that. Jumped *through* the window. I was going to have to replace the glass for Ben.   
  
Though the thought of my kinsman's anger at a broken window was hardly comparable to the present task of tracking down a demon-dog who could jump five feet in a single bound, crash through a window, and still take off running.   
  
I hate vacations.   
  
  
  



	4. When Puppies Go Bad

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
Part: 4/7  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
All three of us remained frozen for about half a second before jumping into motion. Scared as hell, we broke the circle and rushed out of the house to pile into my Neon. Catching a glimpse of the demon-dog's butt as it flashed around a corner, I took off in pursuit. Hearing the grinding of the engine, I winced, knowing that I would catch hell from my mechanic from this one. Tim always seemed to take the state of my Neon as a personal offense.  
  
"What did you *DO*??" I yelled at Jess. No sense dwelling on a disturbed auto mechanic.  
  
"I don't know!" she screamed back. "The ceremony was going fine until the actual conjuring, then something just gave it a shove!"  
  
"What do you mean, a shove?" I asked.  
  
"I'll be damned if I know!" Jess said. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I could see that her eyes were huge and her face was even paler than usual. Jess gives a whole new meaning to the definition of caucasian. "I've performed that spell a hundred times, and I've never had something actually appear like that! I've heard of manifestations, but never by accident!"  
  
"Why is that?" I asked. The little wheels in my head were starting to click...  
  
"It takes too much power!" came the shrill response. "It takes a whole circle of experienced witches just to *try* for a manifestation, and even then it's more of a fifty-fifty shot at best!"  
  
There was definitely a pattern here, and I opened my mouth to ask Jess another question, but Connie broke in.  
  
"We can worry about that later!" she yelled, having so far been quiet. A quiet Connie is a Connie planning something. When she starts getting quiet around my birthday, I usually try to get out of town. "Pull over here!"  
  
"What?" I asked. We were in the downtown area, and all I could see were little shops. A few people were looking quite surprised as the demon-dog ran past them, but most shrugged and kept walking. Apparently seeing a huge dog with glowing red eyes running around without a leash wasn't something out of status quo. Denmark wasn't just smelling, it was *reeking*.  
  
"PULL OVER!" she yelled. With a grimace, I screeched the car to a stop, throwing all of us slightly forward. Even before my Neon had come to a complete halt, Connie had her door open and was racing into a store.   
  
Wait a second, she was racing into a *PET STORE*.  
  
Shit.  
  
Hoping that Connie had a reason for her madness, I twisted around in my seat to look Jess in the eye.   
  
"Is there any kind of way for you to summon that thing?" I barked. Under stress, my people skills deteriorate quickly.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"When you cast the spell normally, is there any way for you to get the spirit to come to you before it has completed its task?"  
  
Jess thought for a second, then nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"What do you need to get it to come for you?"  
  
"Nothing." Seeing my expression, Jess elaborated. "It's a mental command, but I don't really think that you want to confront this thing in downtown Sunnydale."   
  
Damn, she had a point. A plan was starting to vaguely form in my head, but it required a more private area. Glancing around, I hopped out of the car to intercept two teenage boys who were walking down the street. One was tall with dark hair, and the other was short with red hair. Both were cute, too, but the fact that I was almost old enough to be their mother was something that normally would've depressed me. Right now, though, I had more important things to worry about than my own impending mortality.  
  
"Hi!" I said, with as much perk and zip as I could muster. Unfortunately, that really wasn't much. I really need to take one of those seminars for better people skills that my boss keeps trying to ship me off to. "My company is sponsoring an employee retreat, but we need a spot where we can have privacy. Do you know any place where there wouldn't be any crowds or people walking in on us?" Pretty bad lie, I admit, but I flying by the seat of my pants here. Figuratively speaking here, but I was clearly working under a handicap. You'd think that the powers that be would take that into consideration, but clearly neither boy had bought it. They exchanged a glance, and both began making a big show of thinking it over.  
  
"You have to excuse my friend," Jess purred, coming up next to me. Glancing over at her, I resisted the urge to groan. She had unbuttoned at least the first four buttons on her blouse, and her body language just screamed 'Slut'. This certainly caught the attention of the dark haired boy. His friend merely arched an expressive eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but Jess continued. "We're actually representatives for the Wiccans of America Coalition, and we're looking for a spot to conduct our seminar."  
  
Three jaws dropped open. The jaws of the boys, who were obviously getting some pretty descriptive mental pictures, and mine, just at what Jess had said, not to mention her unique way of catching their attention. For some reason guys always just assume that anything that wiccans do will involve naked dancing. I have no idea why. Even some wiccan guys are initially disappointed to discover the lack of nude dancing. Go figure. My mouth clicked shut after Jess gave me a quick kick in the ankle, and then it fell open again when the dark haired boy gave us quick directions to a spot in the woods where apparently no one ever went. Connie came running out of the store holding a small bag just as Jess was thanking them, and we all piled into the car and tore off again.  
  
"What were you thinking when you told them that?" I yelled to Jess as I headed towards the woods. "Now we can count on having every male Sunnydalian from the ages of thirteen to sixty surrounding the spot!"  
  
"We got a spot, okay?" she yelled back. "And at least we'll have half an hour or so before they start showing up!"   
  
I groaned. Then I looked over at Connie, who was drawing symbols on a red dog collar with a black marker. "And what are *you* doing?"   
  
"I figured," she said without looking up, "that we'd need a way to control the demon, so this was my best idea. We corner the demon and someone puts the collar on it. Assuming the spell works correctly, then his behavior patterns will be those of a regular dog instead of a demon straight from the bowels of Hell."   
  
The fact that we were pinning all of our hopes on an 'if' was just a delight to my heart. What Connie was proposing to do was really just an adaptation of a fairly combination of soothing runes. Under normal circumstances, I'd have much more faith in it, since Connie was quite skilled with rune use, but then again, Jess was usually Old Faithful when it can to summoning spirits.   
  
We reached the spot in the forest about twenty minutes later. Working quickly, we managed to build the protective circle in record time. Guess who got to hide in the bushes and hope to collar the demon?  
  
"How are you planning on luring the demon towards you?" I asked. Trust me, I was *very* interested in the plan that would keep the demon distracted from little old me, who had no protective circle.  
  
"Well," Connie said, "When Jess is in her trance, she'll be giving the demon the mental command to come to her. Then, this is the secondary incentive." With a flourish, Connie pulled out a small bag of doggie kibble. Sometimes I really wonder how this woman graduated college, and if it's really a good idea for her to be working in a hospital, where she's around all of those sharp objects.  
  
"Connie," I said carefully, "this is a *DEMON*. Maybe if you put out a bowl of *blood* it might have a little more appeal!"  
  
Connie gave me the finger, but took my advice. Finding a knife that looked relatively clean - though I was wincing at the thought of tetanus and germs - she cut her arm and sprinkled blood on the kibble. Oh, yum. Looked like my ex-boyfriend's omelets. Then we settled down to wait.  
  
Too soon for my taste, we could hear a loud crashing in the bushes. The demon came charging out, heading straight towards Jess. Blessed be. Fortunately, the circle stopped it before it could go for her throat, though I could see the ripple in the air that showed just how close it had come to breaking through. As it stalked around the circle, looking for a weak spot, it spotted the kibble. Whether because of the kibble itself or because of the blood, it walked right next to the bush where I was hiding without so much as a sniff in my direction. Not one to let an opportunity straight from the Goddess go past me, I jumped out and threw the collar around its neck, throwing a quick prayer at the same time.   
  
She must've been in a good mood, because I managed to fasten the collar around its neck before it realized what was going on. Then that huge head turned, and the bright red eyes looked right into mine.   
  
And, man, was it pissed.   
  
It lunged right at me, and I had a sudden glimpse of lots of sharp teeth before it gave a surprised yelp and the magic of the collar kicked in.   
  
Whatever was affecting magic in Sunnydale made another appearance, and the magic that was meant to give the demon the *personality* of a dog twisted.   
  
The demon *became* a dog. To be more specific, the demon became a tiny, flop-eared dog with short black fur that could fit easily into a lap. The bright red eyes were still there, but they looked pretty out of place in the face of a terrier. The dog opened its mouth to roar in anger, but all that came out was a disgruntled yip.   
  
Then I heard voices echoing from further up the path, coming closer. Teenage voices.   
  
Damn.   
  
In addition to all of her other faults, my mom was a dog person. There was always a minimum of three mutts roaming our house when I was growing up. I've always been a cat person myself. After all, George cleans himself, uses the litter pan, doesn't inhale his food, and isn't glued to my side. I also like looking into that furry face and seeing a beacon of thought. Who needs a man when I have George? No, I'm not fooling myself, but George is a good muff of fur.  
  
So when I grabbed our little terrier from Hell, I knew how to do it. My right arm went around his waist, sitting his doggy butt under my arm for the best leverage, with my hand braced against his chest while my left hand clamped his muzzle shut. Terrier he might be, but those little teeth could still hurt if buried in your leg. Yes, that's experience speaking there.  
  
Connie and Jess are smart ladies, and when they heard the voices of the kids they managed to dismantle and hide a protective circle faster than anyone else I've ever seen. If we were in kindergarten, they would've gotten cookies. Running up to me, Connie clipped a bright green leash onto the demon dog's collar. The look I gave her must've spoken volumes, because she anticipated my question and said, "Leash laws."  
  
Connie really should be recruited for the army. A mind that practical should be studied by the nation's top scientists.  
  
  



	5. Crossbows, Terriors, and Random Encounte...

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
Part: 5/7  
Rating: PG-15  
Dedication: For Shaye and Andra, who wouldn't let me forget.  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
With the voices getting louder, we tore off. I'm talking about a full sprint here, too. We'd parked the car about a ten-minute walk away, and we reached it in half that time. This might not sound too impressive, but it helps to keep in mind that Jess and Connie were juggling wicca supplies and I was carrying a struggling terrier from Hell who was *very* interested in trying to maul my arm.   
  
Finally reaching the Neon, we threw the demon-doggie into a cardboard box in the back seat. This meant that we had to move the rat eyes, herbs, and road flares to the trunk, but hopefully the Sunnydale P.D. had learned its lesson about searching us.   
  
Once this was accomplished, Connie and I took a few minutes to lean against the car and wheeze while Jess gave us that superior look that joggers have for the speed-walkers of the world. Next time I needed an extra witch, I was definitely going to get Mike. In his mid-forties with a nicely growing potbelly, Mike is someone who I can stand next to and congratulate myself on what great shape I'm in. Being around Jess is just completely depressing.   
  
My thoughts were pulled away from my new resolution to go to the gym more often by the sudden appearance of a man and a girl behind us. Though how the girl managed to sneak up on anyone was completely beyond me. Petite, with dyed-blonde hair in desperate need of a touch-up, she was extremely pretty, but who wears a leather mini-skirt, boots, and bright yellow tank-top for a walk in the woods? Of course, when I was her age, I cut rather a bizarre figure, too. But it was the early eighties - everyone looked bizarre. I was depressed again when I realized that when I was her age, she probably hadn't even been talking yet. This trip was not doing wonders for my ego.   
  
Her companion was a trifle more to my liking. Early to mid-forties, tweed jacket, and looking at him gave me a nice tingly feeling. Love at first sight? No, I don't believe in that stuff. But there was a healthy amount of lust here, and that was something I could definitely live with. The question was, however, what on earth was a guy like this doing in the middle of the forest with a teenage girl? The answers my brain was coming up with were not helpful.   
  
There was a long moment of silence where everyone involved had a certain 'oops' expression on their faces, like they'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I knew why we had those looks, and I was really hoping that my guess of why Tweed and The Kid had them was wrong.   
  
The silence stretched out, getting more and more uncomfortable until finally Connie saved us all.   
  
"Lovely day for a walk, isn't it?" she said perkily. It really frightens me how much she can sound like my mother without even trying.   
  
"Oh, er, yes." Tweed said. Ooh, a British accent. Like the vast majority of American women, I adore a man with an accent. I made a mental note in his favor, but not even the brownie points gained from an accent could offset the fact that he was accompanied by a very young girl and in possession of a facial expression that closely resembled that of a deer in the headlights. Maybe I was wrong, though. Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, and there was a perfectly wholesome reason why they were out here together. And maybe cows were quite adept at calculus.   
  
"So," I said, forcing casualness into my tone, and not succeeding very well, "Just out for a father-daughter stroll? Spending quality time together?" From the shocked looks on their faces, I was clearly way off base. They stared at me, then stared at each other, then nearly tripped over their own feet in their haste to scramble farther apart.   
  
"Er, eh, no." Tweed floundered. "Buffy is my student." 'Buffy'? Jesus, her parents should be institutionalized.   
  
"Your student?" asked Jess, disbelief clearly dripping from every syllable. Guess I'm not the only one who was suspecting something.   
  
"Yes," he said coolly, giving Jess that glare that older people like to give smart-alecky younger people. Come to think of it, I give Jess that look a lot. Turning from my younger counterpart, he stepped forward to shake my hand. "Rupert Giles," he introduced himself, "I'm the high school librarian. Miss Summers and I were just on, eh, a field trip."   
  
"Val Stevens," I responded, looking him up and down. If ever there was a man born for the job of librarian, it was this guy. "I'm here visiting family for a few days." Turning to his 'student', I offered my hand, going through the usual introduction rigmarole. Connie and Jess joined in. Just as Buffy was shaking hands with Connie, I noticed a weird object that she was hiding behind her back. Seeing the questioning look on my face, Rupert followed my line of sight, and the expression on his face was clearly that of a man praying for the earth to swallow him at any moment.   
  
"Is the squirrel problem in this area so bad that a crossbow is necessary?" I asked. Buffy's countenance fairly screamed, 'Oops.'   
  
"Well," Rupert said, clearing his throat. "I am the moderator of the high school Archery Team, and Buffy is one of the more advanced members. There is a nice area for target practice in these woods, so..." he shrugged.   
  
I wasn't buying it. What school would be willing to accept the possible liability of allowing students to use crossbows? Most I knew wouldn't even let them do science experiments that involved salt. I opened my mouth to say so, but was cut off by a burst of manic barking from the car. The Terrier from Hell had wormed his way out of the box and was now trying to get out of the window. Thankfully, I lived in New York City for several years, and so the windows were only barely cracked open, despite the heat of the day.   
  
"Aw, cute puppy." Buffy said, "What's her name?"   
  
"Fluffikins," Connie said quickly. I staunchly repressed the urge to roll my eyes. The really sad thing was that Connie would actually be tempted to name some poor animal that.   
  
"Actually," Rupert said, observing the terrier press itself against the window in an attempt to tunnel through the glass through sheer doggy will. "It appears to be male."   
  
I'd noticed that too. Damn. "Well," I said, trying to act natural. "It's actually a really funny story...." I fought for one, I really did, but couldn't think one up. So I pulled a really under-handed move. "..and Jess tells the story *much* better than I do."   
  
Jess gave me a nasty glare that promised retribution, and I had just a moment to regret my choice of action before she snapped out, "Val's vet is an idiot."   
  
There was a pause, and then Connie noted lamely, "Well, you kinda had to be there, I guess."   
  
"Ah," Rupert replied delicately. Thus ensued another long minute of uncomfortable silence. Finally, Rupert made a show of glancing at his watch. "Well, er, we really do need to be getting back to school to, er, return the equipment."   
  
Relieved, everyone shook hands and scattered. Connie called shot-gun, and I had to sit in back to pin down Devil-Doggie, so that left Jess to drive. That put a fair amount of fear in my heart as I kissed my transmission good-bye.   
  
Now, in most cases we would've started talking immediately about where to go now in our search for my niece, or even about how awful it was that teachers were taking advantage of their students. However, we were stopped in our verbal tracks by a comment from an unlikely source.   
  
"Bitches," growled a voice that was so deep that it seemed to originate several feet below the pavement. It made Barry White sound like high soprano.   
  
And it was coming right from our Devil-Doggie.   
  
  



	6. I Smell A Rat

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
Part: 6/7  
Dedication: To Shaye and Andra, who didn't let me forget.  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Jess was just pulling into traffic, and was shocked enough that my little Neon was almost crushed by an oncoming SUV. Somehow she avoided the SUV, but we ended up parking on the opposite shoulder of the road. All without taking her eyes off of our now-speaking Devil-Doggie.   
  
That takes skill.   
  
"What have you bitches done to me?" the devil-dog snarled. I'd say his eyes held all the evil of the fires of hell, but in his currant form as a terrier, that wouldn't be saying much. Can you tell that I'm not a fan of terriers?   
  
"Hey, hey, language!" yelled Connie. The look that Jess gave her would've withered whole forests.   
  
"I'm really not all the concerned about your sensibilities right now," he growled. "Ten minutes ago I was one of the Hounds of Hell. I tore up souls for breakfast. Now I feel the urge to have my tummy scratched and chase after little jingle-balls!"   
  
Jess and I both looked at Connie. It was her spell that had transformed a snarling, drooling HellHound into a snarling, drooling terrier.   
  
"I don't know what happened!" she said defensively. "That collar was only meant to give him the *personality* of a terrier. It should've taken a whole coven to even attempt to transmogrify him. No one person has the power!"   
  
Her phrasing hit a small chord, and I could feel my mind struggling to make a connection. Apparently it showed, because Jess and Connie both looked at me expectantly. Even the terrier shut up, and became fascinated by his tail.   
  
"Amy was casting spells that take power, but not finesse.... Jess, you said that an actual spiritual manifestation is possible, but takes raw power.... and Connie, your spell somehow got so much power that it changed not just his personality, but his shape... We all felt the change when we came to this town."   
  
"So it must be the town itself that's providing all of this excess power." Jess reasoned.   
  
Meanwhile, the dog rolled his eyes. "Idiots," he groused, "you're on the Hellmouth. You could've saved yourself the effort of working those brain synapses and just asked me."   
  
It's times like this that I really hate dogs.   
  
*****   
  
Mystical convergence. Mouth of Hell. Boca de Inferno.   
  
Fascinating trivia given to us via a terrier, but it wasn't bringing us a step closer to finding my niece. Half an hour after we pulled over, we resettled ourselves in our Neon and began driving back to Ben's house, this time with me in the driver's seat. Jess was relegated to the backseat, right next to our demon terrier.   
  
All of us were pretty quiet. I don't know what the dog was thinking about, but the rest of us were still pretty shell-shocked over this Hellmouth thing. Sure, there are places all over the world where magic is at its strongest, but even reports of Stonehenge failed to match up to this place. No wonder Catherine had never wanted to move from this town -- without the boost from the mystical forces, she wouldn't have been able to cast even a quarter of the spells that she was used to.   
  
Suddenly, everyone's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden manic barking of Devil-Doggie. Thinking that he had just seen a squirrel or something, I ignored him at first. Then, he snarled, "Pull over!" Since once pets start talking you feel inclined to listen to them, I did so.   
  
"What, do you have to go water a tree?" Jess asked. A nasty growl was her only answer. But the next thing I knew, the terrier had jumped onto my lap, and was pawing at the door like any other house-broken dog who is feeling the call of nature. It was Connie, naturally, who gave his actions a little more thought.   
  
"Do you smell Amy?" she asked. Jess and I both thwapped our heads for that one. For all that he was now in the form of a doggie, this was still a demon. More so, a demon who had been summoned to find my wayward niece. His urinary functions aside, this was still his top priority.   
  
Clipping the leash to his collar, the three of us climbed out. As soon as his little feet touched the ground, devil-doggie was off like a shot. It was all I could do to keep up with him enough to keep the little idiot from choking himself in his eagerness. Apparently he was picking up more than a few normal terrier personality traits.   
  
Our furry little friend led us straight to the door of a typical suburban home. He then embarked on throwing himself bodily at the door. Whining, yapping, and scratching at the paint. Yeah, he was definitely a terrier now.   
  
Jess kinda shrugged in a 'this is weird, but I'm going with it' motion, and rang the bell. Despite the dog's frantic barking, I could hear footsteps as someone approached the door from the other side. It opened, revealing a red-haired teenage girl who was clearly wondering what the three of us were selling. But before she could say anything, the dog gave a lunge that yanked the leash from my hand, and went tearing right up the stairs in true hyper-doggie fashion.   
  
The three of us, plus the very confused redhead, ran up after him, and followed the sound of joyous yapping into what was probably the teenager's room, judging from the light colors, occasional stuffed animals, and clothes draped over random surfaces. The dog, however, was sitting on top of a small cage and barking down at a completely freaked out rat.   
  
While in college, I took a course in surrealist painting. The masters of the craft would've killed to paint this scene.   
  
While Connie apologize to the girl and attempted to come up with some explanation as to why we rang her doorbell, I collected the dog. This left Jess to snoop. The redhead was understanding of whatever spiel Connie thought up, and even gave us some bacon to keep Demon-Doggie quiet on the ride home.   
  
Once back at Ben's house, we sat around the table to discuss everything we had learned. Jess revealed that while snooping around the redhead's room, she had seen a rather interesting book lying right next to the rat-food. 'Animal Transformation' was the title. Demon-Doggie asserted quite confidently that the rat was his target. This led to a very clear, yet very strange, result.   
  
My niece was a rat.   



	7. Brother, Can You Spare A Maiden?

Title: Maiden, Mother, Crone  
Author: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare  
Part: 7/7  
Rating: PG-15  
Dedication: For everyone who contributed to MMC, and everyone who enjoyed the characters and refused to let them die. Especially Gaius Petronius, Jai, Andra, Zak, Bitca, and Shaye.   
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
We decided against telling Ben that his daughter was a rodent, at least for the moment. Our first objective was to recover said rodent - then we could give her father a nervous breakdown.   
  
That evening we returned to the house, plan in hand. The plan was basically that we would talk our way back inside, grab the rat, and run like hell. It wasn't the best of plans, but we were working under pressure.   
  
We really didn't count on the rat-niece not being in residence. But the moment we arrived at the house, our little Demon-Dog knew that something was wrong. After a solid ten minutes of sniffing around the perimeter, however, he picked up the scent. We piled back into the car, and he sat on Connie's lap giving us directions. Fortunately enough, Amy had apparently been transported by car, so we didn't find ourselves having to go off-road or tear through someone's petunia patch. After about five minutes, we parked in front of Sunnydale High School.   
  
This is where things get a little weird.   
  
For some reason, the front doors of the school were unlocked. Since it was almost nine at night, that struck all of us as a little weird. Most *churches* will lock their doors when not in service, and I don't know a single school that will leave its doors open after class. But we walked in, following our terrier, who was close on the scent. After sneaking through the empty halls, we came to a stop in front of the library. Voices were coming from inside, so the demon terrier snuck in alone.   
  
We waited for three tense minutes. Then a loud yell came from inside the library. The demon-terrier came racing out as fast as his little legs could carry him, and held securely in his mouth was Amy the rat. Behind him ran the blonde we had met in the woods along with Rupert the librarian, plus the redhead, plus the two boys that Jess had talked to on the street, plus two brunette girls and a youngish-guy in a suit.   
  
It was definitely a small town.   
  
Jess scooped up the dog, and he spat Amy into my purse. That's when we all started running. We got to the doors, but that's when we realized why the doors had been open. Through some bizarre beurocratic error, the doors opened fine from the outside, but were locked from the inside. Because of school budget cuts, the principal had left them the way they were.   
  
While Connie tried to force the doors, Jess and I turned to face the horde of enraged teenagers and British men.   
  
"How dare you rat-nap Amy!" yelled the redhead.   
  
"How dare you turn my niece into a rodent!" I yelled back.   
  
There was a long minute while this soaked into everyone.   
  
"Oops," said both the dark-haired teenage boy and Jess at the same time.   
  
*****   
  
Once introductions were done, I realized that no parent in California believed in traditional baby names. In addition to Buffy and Rupert, the redhead turned out to be named Willow. The dark-haired boy was Xander, the redheaded boy was Oz, and the dark-haired girls were Faith and Cordelia. The second British guy was named Wesley. Interesting, to say the least.   
  
They told me that they were the school chess team. Now, I'd just like to say that that was obviously a complete load of bull. However, they could be Columbian drug lords for all I cared as long as I got my niece back.   
  
Amy was returned to the little habitrail that had been her home for the past few months, and our demon terrier was returned to the bowels of Hell.   
  
When it came to the task of restoring my little niece to human form, however, a slight problem came up. Looking over the restoration spell that Willow had been attempting with little success, I quickly rejected it. It was a direct appeal to Hecate, which was tricky to say the least. The girl was lucky that she hadn't joined Amy in rodent form. Fortunately enough, it turned out that Rupert was the resident king of cross-referencing. He managed to pull up another restoration spell that looked a trifle more stable. On the downside, it was one of those old-fashioned spells that relied on the power of three. A certain three, it turned out. We need a maiden, a mother, and a crone.   
  
Connie was a shoe-in for the mother part. Guess who got nominated for the role of the crone? Yep. You guessed it. I might be a far way from cashing any social security checks, but the spell was put together in the middle ages. Back then, you were an old maid at twenty and dead by thirty. Thirty-five was firmly into hag-zone. This trip was not doing wonders for my self-esteem.   
  
The big problem came with finding ourselves a maiden. We were in California, which means that if someone is still chaste after the age of fifteen, then they're definitely breaking some statistic.   
  
Our group was no exception. Rupert, Connie, and I were right out. Jess was co-habitating with her girlfriend, and now was not the time to really start testing the definition of 'virgin'. Buffy blushed and shook her head, putting her out of the running. Willow and Oz glanced at each other, which made their involvement fairly obvious. Xander coughed and absolutely refused to look at Faith, who smirked. Two more down. Cordelia admitted to some fairly R-rated make-out sessions, while looking at Xander. By this time, my head was fairly spinning from the meanings of all these telling glances between such a small group of friends.   
  
It was a brave, brave man who finally stepped forward and took upon himself the mantle of virgin.   
  
Yes, Wesley, all of twenty-seven, was our virgin. Though from the look of utter mortification on his part, his chastity was not for lack of trying.   
  
Long story a little shorter, we returned my niece to human form. She was returned to her father, who was delighted enough that he didn't comment on the fact that she now had a strange craving for cheese. Connie, Jess, and I returned home.   
  
An interesting trip, but I'm happy to be at home where there are neither rodent nieces nor demon terriers. With my aunt-ly duties fulfilled, I feel ready to crash on the couch for about a week.   
  
I hate vacations.  



End file.
